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What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Torment
Bed
Tickling
Sight
Gnawing
Comfort
Secluded
Marriage
Damnation
Worm
Eternally
Worms

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My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.
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As he that fears God fears nothing else, so he that sees God sees everything else.
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Death, thou shalt die.
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ask not for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee
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True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.
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I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.
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Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.
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...Whatever dies was not mixed equally, If our two loves be one Or thou and I love so alike That none can slacken, none can die.
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When my mouth shall be filled with dust, and the worm shall feed, and feed sweetly upon me, when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction if the poorest alive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being made equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust.
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I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
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Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrols.
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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
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Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 Our critical day is not the very day of our death, but the whole course of our life I thank him, that prays for me when my bell tolls but I thank him much more, that catechizes me, or preaches to me, or instructs me how to live.
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And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, the element of fire is quite put out the Sun is lost, and the earth, and no mans wit can well direct him where to look for it.
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